“You always were quick with a small engine.”

“The needle was just stuck,” Nate said, wiping his greasy thumbs on an oil rag.

“Your brother Jeff tried fixing his own mower last summer and burned out the starter,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“Cost him two hundred dollars to replace it.”

Nate tossed the dirty rag into the metal scrap bucket by the door.

He didn’t mention that at midnight on Friday, he had earned three hundred dollars cash fixing a combine’s feeder chain in freezing rain out by the county line.

“Is the deck belt holding up?” Nate asked.